The Long Road Ahead
by VinnyLB
Summary: In the year 2043, the government obtains technology that could change the world forever. But this was never meant to happen.
1. Prologue

"Why are we watching this? It's boring."

"This isn't boring. This is history. We are witnessing the exact moment that humanity's definition of life expanded to include all sentient beings, even those that aren't completely organic. Plus it's educational, and I like it, so _hush_."

"Yeah, you would." The young woman who traveled with him sighed, a puff of breath that made her fringe of blond hair fly up. How like her, he thought. Only interested in the journey so long as it stayed exciting. He didn't think this unkindly; he liked the adventurous type. He'd take her somewhere nice next, some place properly dangerous where they could run for their lives. Until then, he turned his attention back to the unfolding events. Congress had just adjourned following their groundbreaking decision.

That was when he noticed her: one of the senators, the Independent from California unless he missed his guess, and he never did. She was the one who had introduced the bill, had fought harder than anyone to ensure its success, and although she shook hands with allies and opponents alike, celebrating when appropriate and trying not to gloat when not, her eyes were locked on him, and every step carried her closer to the place where he stood and watched.

"Wait here," he told the girl, ignoring her inevitable protests and moving forward to meet the senator.

She was not a young woman, he knew, though she also didn't look terribly old. Her short hair was just barely brushed with white, the corners of her lips only faintly creased, and when she smiled at him, her eyes crinkled very slightly around the edges. She looked to be in her early forties, but that had not been true for a few decades at least.

She stopped in front of him.

"Senator," he said, inclining his head. "Congratulations."

"I thought that was you." Her smile widened. "You've changed completely, but it's still you, right?"

"Yes," he said, "I think so," because when people were that certain that they knew who he was, they were usually right.

"I didn't think I'd see you again after last time, but I'm glad you could make it. This _is _great, isn't it?"

"It's a start. Admitting the sentience of other life is one thing, but equal rights and all that? You've still got a long road ahead."

"Yes," she said faintly. "It's already been a long road. You said it would be. I always hoped I would see the end of it, but..." She trailed off. For a long, uncomfortable moment, he thought she might cry, but then she lifted her chin and her smile returned. "I really am happy to see you again. I used to think of what I'd say to you if this ever happened, and I wonder- can I ask for a favor?"

"You can ask," he said, well aware that he might not be able to grant it.

"When it's time... will you look after him? Because he's going to need you, and I kind of think you need someone like him, too. You and him, you're kind of the same."

"Are we?" he asked. It was all he could think to ask.

Someone in the crowd called out, "Senator, he's here!" and there was no more time for explanations.

"Guest of honor," she said, and then suddenly, unexpectedly, she leaned in and hugged him. "He'll want to see you again, but I guess you're not going to stick around this time, either."

"I'm always around," he said, but the moment she stepped away, he turned and moved back to his traveling companion, waiting for him on the sidelines. He shooed her away from the history shaping behind them, onward to the next adventure.

"What was that about?" she asked, her voice laced with residual distrust. Their own road was only just starting.

"Honestly? I have no idea."


	2. Chapter 1

"To be honest," said Doctor Eli Selig, "I still don't feel safe on this thing."

Andrea Donoso caught his arm to steady him, exhibiting such concern as to make any uninformed onlooker believe her completely human. Only Selig, who had designed her, noticed the way her feet were planted solidly on the steel deck, or the way she was entirely unaffected by vertigo, despite the fact that they were thousands of feet above the relative safety of the ground.

Their guide, a young man who wore the crisp black suit of the National Security Agency and an earpiece that flashed blue, seemed offended. "This isn't Knossos, Doctor Selig. This is a highly protected government facility."

"Hmm. Maybe that's why I'm so uncomfortable here. Lead the way, then. I've made your people wait long enough." And indeed he had, he thought as he and Donoso followed their guide. Indeed he had. The government had attempted to contact him not long after he had been pulled from the wreckage of his aircraft, shot down while escaping the destruction of the Knossos laboratory. Every time they tried they were turned away, first by militantly protective hospital staff, then by Donoso, and at last, when he had recovered enough, by Selig himself. When he had finally consented to speak with them, they had given him information so intriguing (slightly worrying, but intriguing just the same) that he couldn't help but agree to meet, even if it meant coming to a place that was, in his opinion, unsafe.

And Selig truly was uncomfortable there. He was not a superstitious man, but if he had to describe it, he might say that the feel of the place, the aura of it, was somehow off, as if there were something cold about it, cold and dead, and he was the only living being walking those corridors. He glanced at Donoso, trying to gauge her reaction. There was nothing in her expression but the usual calm resolve. He was, he decided, being a silly old man, made too paranoid by his second brush with death in as many years.

"Young man," he said after clearing his throat, "what can you tell me about this project?"

The agent led them into an elevator, slid a keycard and punched in a complicated series of numbers before he answered. "Probably nothing you don't already know, sir. One of our overseas teams picked up new some new technology. From what I heard, it'll change the future of robotics, if we can learn how it works. I guess that's why we need you. The Director will be able to tell you more." He looked embarrassed, as if he had said too much.

Selig simply nodded, and he spent the rest of the short lift ride in contemplative silence. Unless he imagined it, there was an implication in the boy's words, and in the Director's report, that the new technology had in fact been stolen, likely from their enemies, and that they needed him to discover what made it tick so that it could be reverse-engineered for use in American warfare. If that turned out to be the case, Selig decided, he would certainly decline. After his own attempt to sabotage Infiltration Unit Zeta had failed, he was quite done with weaponry.

Another sequence was entered on the keypad. He noticed that Andrea Donoso watched out of the corner of her eye. Perhaps she was not so calm as she appeared to be, if she had already committed the codes to memory in order to plan a possible escape. Her foresight set him at ease, and he stepped through the elevator doors as soon as they opened.

What he saw nearly stopped him cold.

The room that he had entered was a laboratory more complex than Knossos had once been. The walls were lined with floor-to-ceiling computer systems more advanced than anything he had seen before, each one beeping and flashing away independent of any human interaction. Not that there were any qualified humans with which to interact; there were no scientists in the laboratory, only two large NSA grunts, the younger agent, and the Director.

And there was also the _thing_.

That was the only word Selig could think of to describe it. He couldn't call it a synthoid without undermining decades of his own work, but to simply call it a robot would be an understatement. It was the size of an average adult, constructed of metal that seemed, to his expert eye, both flimsy and cumbersome. The design was too old-fashioned to be considered elegant, not when compared to his previous work. In movement, it would probably lack IU Zeta's sleek speed and agility, and even the raw power of Zeta's government-designed successor, IU7.

It was the face, if it could be called such, that unnerved him the most. More like a helmet combined with a child's Halloween mask than a proper synthoid head, it had what appeared to be handles on either side, a narrow slit of a mouth but no indication of a hinged jaw, and black holes for eyes that seemed to go all the way to the back of the head and beyond. Depthless, soulless even by robotic standards. It put him very briefly in mind of the original design for Zeta, the oval head with eyes and mouth that was deemed "too human" and "too sympathetic" by the project's overseers- the head that was nonetheless adopted by Zeta after its malfunction and escape. Yes, this face looked like Zeta's might have, if Zeta had been created to look so very evil.

The Director stared expectantly at him, and Selig found his voice at last. "What is it?" he asked.

"The inevitable evolution of synthoid technology, Doctor Selig." The Director's harsh voice echoed in the sterile room. "Possibly the very key to humanity's future."

Selig smiled very slightly, because it was more polite than the nervous laughter that threatened to burst from him. The thing did not look anything like his vision of the future. If anything, it looked as if it would be more at home in the past, perhaps in the low-budget science fiction thrillers of the late twentieth century.

"Don't dismiss it so quickly, Doctor," said the Director, reading not his mind, but his disbelieving smile. "Not until you've looked at its schematics."

"Oh, I don't think it would be wise to look at such classified information until I've actually agreed to take on the project."

"Don't be ridiculous. You've already seen too much."

The Director's tone was light and joking, the kind of "I could tell you, but then I'd have to kill you" humor common among special agents, but the words sent a shiver down Selig's spine just the same. Donoso stepped to his side and took his arm, an unspoken promise of protection, and that alone carried him forward to the indicated computer screen. "How, exactly, did you obtain this?" he asked, leaning over the console and skimming the report over the top of his glasses.

"The NSA recently assisted in an overseas incident involving these creatures." The Director's use of the word _creatures _was not lost on Selig, though he wondered why that term should apply when nothing about the thing looked alive. "Most of them were destroyed, but we managed to retrieve this one for study."

"You stole it."

"The United States government does not 'steal,' Doctor. We appropriated it for reasons of national security. At first we believed this to be a terrorist invention, perhaps an enemy equivalent to our own infiltration units, but as you can see, it's so much more than that."

"Doctor Selig?" This was the first time Donoso had spoken since their arrival, and if Selig looked anything like he felt, it was no wonder. He felt as though all the blood had drained from his face. His hands trembled over the monitor.

"Surely this can't be right," he muttered. "It's impossible."

"It's more than possible," said the Director. Selig looked up at him sharply. "It's evolution."

"Evolution? But this is barbaric!" He flew back from the computer as though it had burned him and was immediately seized by one of the larger agents. At the same time, Donoso was also captured by the other. She didn't fight him, though she certainly could have. She was waiting.

"Doctor Selig, you are without a doubt the brightest mind in modern robotics. You are the only one who can assist us."

"With what? You can't seriously be planning to make more of these things! To do so would be inhuman, unethical- not to mention illegal-"

"We have infiltrated your government," said the Director, only he did not sound much like the Director anymore. His voice was too hollow, too far away. His earpiece flashed blue in tandem with his words. "We'll decide what is legal. You will comply, Selig."

Only one hope was left to him. He turned as much as he could in the large agent's grasp, just enough to catch the eye of his assistant, and he found her already watching him. She was already thinking one step ahead, just waiting for confirmation.

"Go," he ordered. "Get help."

Andrea Donoso moved.

She wrenched free of the agent's arms with a force that could not have come from any human, twisting under him as he reached out to recapture her and knocking a powerful blow to the back of his neck that sent him sprawling to the floor. She hesitated for only a moment after that, perhaps weighing her chances against the rest of them, and then she was gone. Selig allowed himself a sigh of relief. They wouldn't find her; in the lift, she would surely use her advanced holomorphic processors to become just another agent. She would return with reinforcements. She would save him yet again.

He looked back to his captors. They had made no effort to go after her. If anything, the Director looked bemused. "A synthoid," he said. "I'm sorry. I had no idea. But it doesn't matter. Her escape is inconsequential to the greater plan. She won't find any help in the outside." He was not speaking to Selig.

The thing moved, one slow, heavy step at a time, advancing on Selig. It was lumbering and awkward and, now that he knew the nature of it, utterly terrifying. When it spoke, its voice was hard and metallic, as distant and empty as the Director's.

"_Eli Selig_," it said, "_you will assist, or you will be deleted_."


	3. Chapter 2

If he had to choose his three least favorite words in the English language, James Bennett thought, storming through the halls of the NSA's headquarters and scattering frightened rookies before him like dead leaves, then they would have to be "above," "your," and "clearance," in that order. His meeting with Colonel Lemak minutes before had been less than successful.

"I'm sorry, Jim," Lemak had said, sounding thoroughly unapologetic, "but Selig has moved on to a new project even more guarded than before. He's so high above your clearance-" those three hated words- "that you shouldn't even know he exists."

"It's very important that I speak to Selig about Infiltration Unit Zeta! He must be told-"

"Selig is aware of the danger posed by IU Zeta. We aren't keeping him in the dark anymore. Not after the Knossos incident." Lemak had then moved on to another subject entirely, something about the new communication devices that were in production and would soon become standard for all field agents, and Bennett was left silently fuming and seriously thinking of enlisting that Buenaventura kid to help him find Zeta's creator.

He had no intention of warning Selig, no matter what he allowed his superiors to believe. Ever since he had learned that Selig had survived the destruction of Knossos, he had been consumed by a new goal: to find Selig, yes, but not to warn him against contact with Zeta. Instead, he wanted to question him about what he had overheard that day. "I put an extra module in Zeta," Selig had said, "a conscience to make him rethink his programming," and Bennett wanted to know more, the why and the how of it. He needed to understand Selig's reasons, whatever plans the doctor might have for the use of such technology, and determine from there how to proceed. A synthoid that had indeed grown a conscience was an entirely different matter from a synthoid reprogrammed by terrorists and should not, Bennett believed, be treated in the same way.

Of course, he couldn't breathe a word of this to Lemak. Not yet, not until he had discussed it at length with the doctor and come to his own conclusions. If he was going to jeopardize his career, it had to be for the right reasons. The NSA would not see the situation in its new light; they would be far more concerned with the ramifications of what Selig had done than his potentially beneficial reasons for doing so. He would be seen as an impediment to national security and a traitor to the United States government. Zeta would still be treated a piece of malfunctioning equipment that needed reprogramming. While Bennett could almost see the logic in that, he had been the one out in the field with Zeta. He had seen the things that the synthoid could do, the heroism made clearer by Selig's confession at Knossos. He had witnessed the rescue of his own son and let Zeta escape as a result. There could be no more question of his innocence, no more denial.

No, the desk-bound bureaucrats over the mission had not seen what Bennett had seen. Their reaction would be automatic and unsympathetic, with severe consequences for Selig and Zeta alike.

So, unable to tell his superiors the truth and unable to find Eli Selig, Bennett tore a path back to his office, cursing those three words and contemplating how he could retain his dignity while begging help from a thirteen-year-old enemy of the NSA. He didn't notice until he slammed the door behind him that he was not alone in the room. An NSA operative, so generic in appearance that he seemed more the idea of a federal agent than a living person, stood motionless in front of his desk.

"Who are you?" Bennett snapped, his patience pushed past its limit for the day. "What are you doing in my office?"

"Have the new communication devices been distributed to your team yet?" the agent asked, as if he had not even heard.

"What? No. What does that have to do with-"

He stopped short. The form of the agent began to shimmer and change, melting away into a more familiar figure- not Zeta, as he briefly hoped, but that of Doctor Selig's assistant.

"In that case," said Andrea Donoso, "you're one of the few who can help me."

* * *

Zeta was not surprised when Ro fell asleep as soon as she hit the bed. They'd been moving almost nonstop since word of Selig's survival had reached them, and he had, he thought with a pang of guilt, been unfair to her. Her only recent sleep had been in the car. Her only food had come from fast food restaurants, and they had not even gone inside to eat. His worst offense, though, was in not allowing her time to shop, and this was the only thing about which she'd complained. She had taken the rest surprisingly well- but Ro, he thought fondly, understood the importance of finding his creator better than anyone else could.

He settled into the bedside chair and shut down for the night, dedicating his systems to their first full recharge in over a month. Shutting down after Knossos had been made difficult by the discovery that he could dream, and this new processing was plagued by memories of fire, debris floating among choppy waves, and sometimes the triumphant laughter of Titus Sweete. It had disturbed him so greatly that he had soon stopped recharging altogether.

Then the message had come, hidden in the ad section of the Golden Bay text news: "SKYE'S THE LIMIT," it read, "is attempting to reunite a man presumed lost at sea with his estranged son for our August 5 show. If you have any information, contact us today!" It was a clue, three references to their past meant to catch their attention, and clicking the contact information had loaded a vid of Casey MacCurdy.

"Hey, Bulldozer," he said. "Our mutual friend has been looking everywhere for you. You guys just disappeared after- well, you know. I have some information from him. He says the doc's alive and going back to work. We have his last known location. KG has coded it into the classifieds. Crack the code, and you'll know where to go."

"KG," Ro had said. "Kid genius. My brother's working with Bucky. It's the end of the world."

Zeta wasn't listening. He scanned the ads, finding the code among want ads and phone numbers, deciphering it easily and revealing the last coordinates of Doctor Selig. It was a long road to Washington, DC, with no time for rest for either of them.

He charged longer than was normal for him, and it was not a vision of Knossos burning that forced him back online late the next morning. The hotel room's vidphone was ringing, the sound muffled slightly. He rose, extricating himself from the blankets and pillows stacked around him, Ro's barrier against his snoring, and moved to answer the phone before it could wake her.

"Mr. Smith."

There was no picture of the caller. The voice, according to his auditory sensors, was disguised. He tried without luck to filter out the distortion. "I'm sorry," he said. "You have the wrong number."

"Don't hang up. I'm calling you because the doctor's life is in danger, and I need your assistance."

The caller certainly had his attention at that. "Who is this?" he asked.

"I won't reveal that over an insecure line. I need to speak to you in person. Meet me at the Museum of American History when it opens. Come alone. No sense in involving the girl."

"The National Mall is heavily guarded. If I'm recognized, I'll be captured."

"You're an Infiltration Unit. Infiltrate."

Zeta paused. He glanced back at Ro, imagining what she woud say. She would warn him against walking into a trap, remind him of past disasters caused by accepting help from unknown sources. She would call him naive and wonder aloud where he would be if he didn't have her around. She would say that this was a very bad idea, and she would be right, of course...

But if Doctor Selig was in danger, if there was the slightest chance of that, then he knew that he would have to take the risk. He would leave Ro a message, carefully worded so as not to cause her alarm, but with enough information to help her find him should something go wrong. He would not wake her from her much-needed sleep, and he would not involve her in a potentially dangerous situation.

"Who are you?" he asked again. "Please tell me."

There was a long silence, broken only by the faint static crackle of the caller's voice modulator. "A friend," said the voice, and the line went dead.

* * *

Andrea Donoso crossed her arms over her chest and frowned. "I hope you're right about him."

"After everything I've learned about Zeta, everything I've seen him do," said Bennett, still staring at the screen of his vidphone, "I would stake my life on it."


	4. Chapter 3

Zeta left early, an hour before the museum opened. He hoped that arriving before schedule would give him the advantage of observing his surroundings, scanning for possible escape routes, and watching the gathered crowds for some sign of his contact. In leaving early, though, he missed more than he observed.

First, not long after he left, a man arrived. He had covered himself in a partial hologram, just enough of a disguise to keep from alerting the public to his rusted cybernetic arm and the circuitry that covered half his face- a face featured on many wanted posters, easily recognizable to a well-informed civilian. He loitered around on the sidewalk and watched the hotel doors intently, waiting for Zeta to reappear. Zeta, or his little blonde accomplice. He wasn't picky.

There was a noise soon after that, a faint grinding like an engine that wouldn't start in an antique car blocks away. It grew steadily louder, drowning out the everyday sounds of the city street, and it was accompanied by the arrival of something else on the sidewalk outside the hotel. Zeta, not being human and therefore not restricted to the limited perception of humans, might have noticed it, but none of the people passing by that day paid it any attention. They knew, in a very vague way and in the very backs of their minds, that something significant was happening, just as it had happened before and would continue to happen in the future. They even saw it, just out of the corner of their eyes, the sudden appearance of a foreign and anachronistic structure. It simply did not register with them on a conscious level.

Even Roden Krick, inconspicuous in his hologram, didn't see.

* * *

Ro wasn't sure what woke her from her peaceful sleep. She imagined, for just a moment, that she had been disturbed by the deep metallic whirring of Zeta's snore. But Zeta was gone. His chair was empty. The wall that she had stacked around him, not quite soundproof but close enough, had been separated into its individual pillows and comforters, folded and stacked neatly on the other bed. Wherever he had gone, he hadn't left in a hurry.

She rose, reaching for the lamp and the note that she knew he had left. That was Zee- always so courteous, always leaving little explanations for his absence if he so much as stepped out to buy her breakfast. She had panicked the first time he disappeared without warning, and so he made sure to keep her informed now, so she would never have to worry that the NSA had stolen him away in her sleep.

She unfolded the paper. "Ro," he had scrawled in his unpracticed handwriting, "I left to investigate a new lead on Doctor Selig. If you have to find me, I'll be at the National Museum of American History, but please don't follow me unless it's necessary. Try to stay at the hotel until I come back. Zee."

Zee, she thought, setting the note aside, was getting sneaky, leaving before she woke and not even giving her the chance to ask where he got his information. He was probably going to walk right into a trap. She stood, sighing deeply, and reached for the bag with her change of clothing and holo-emitter bracelet. It wouldn't hurt just to drop by the museum long enough to make sure Zee wasn't surrounded by agents. And if nothing had gone wrong, maybe she could fit in an hour or two of shopping without the input of a fashion-deficient robot.

The note, evidence of their stay that she couldn't afford to leave behind, was the last thing to go in her bag after her clothes and the hotel shampoo. She checked it again before folding it and tucking it into a side pocket. The National Museum of American History. She had no idea where that was, but she could get directions.

"Well," she said to the empty room, "he said to _try _to stay at the hotel." It wouldn't be the first time that she just didn't try hard enough.

* * *

Ro paused outside the hotel, stepping into the shade of an old vidphone booth. She scanned the morning rush for likely disguises, loading the holo-emitter with as many new faces as it could hold, just in case she needed to hide in plain sight.

That was a frightening idea, that anything could hide right out in the open without being seen. Synthoids like Zee with no moral objection to killing, or humans with holo-emitters, or anything that could be easily disguised, imperceptible to the human eye. Ro was suddenly nervous. She realized, better than any of the people walking by that day, that there was something wrong with the sidewalk outside the hotel that day. She'd seen a lot of weird things on her journey with Zee, and she knew better than most how to tell if something was _off_, and something was definitely off. The idea of it nagged at the back of her mind. If she just stayed a little longer, just looked a little closer, she might see it. Something right in front of her eyes, hiding in plain sight…

"Don't move."

Ro had fortunately not been held at gunpoint too many times in the past two years, but she knew what the barrel of a gun felt like when pressed against her back, and there was no mistaking that feeling now, nor the gravelly voice in her ear. "Don't try to run, and don't even think about calling for help, or you'll be dead before you open your mouth."

"Krick," she said, her voice low. She didn't doubt for a moment that he'd keep his promise if she attracted attention. "Who let you out of your cage?"

"Got out on good behavior," he said, "and I thought I'd pay a visit to some old friends. But our reunion is short a synthoid, isn't it? Where's Zeta?"

"Hey, don't ask me. He left this morning. I don't know where he went, but he's long gone by now."

"But he never gets very far from you, does he, Miss Rowen? I'm sure he'll come running if he thinks you're in danger." He leaned in closer. "And you _are _in danger. I haven't forgotten that you're as much to blame for what happened to me as Zeta, and I don't mind messing up that pretty face to get to him." The cybernetic implant in place of his eye clicked faintly beneath the hologram as he focused on each individual pedestrian, scanning them for holomorphic disguises.

Ro reviewed her options. She could try to run and be killed. She could put up a fight and be killed. She could call for help and be killed. None of those choices were particularly appealing. No, her best bet was probably just to lead Krick right to Zee and hope for the best, hope that he could get them both out of this situation. "All right," she said, "I'll tell you where Zee is. He-"

Her answer went unfinished, because at that moment, the door to the vidphone booth opened.

How had she ever thought that it was a vidphone booth, anyway? It looked nothing like one. It was too big, too old, made of wood and painted blue, and while it did have something that bore a passing resemblance to a phone- an _old _one- the lettering across the top identified it as a "police public call box." Great, she thought, that was just what she needed. The police.

The man who stepped out of the box didn't look like a cop, though, not even an undercover one. He looked more like somebody just back from a historical reenactment of a time when people still wore pinstripe suits and old-fashioned neckties. He sauntered out in front of them, hands shoved deep in his pockets. "Oh, hello!" he said, beaming at Ro.

Krick's holoviewer eye clicked furiously, but Ro could tell already that this wasn't Zee. Zee would have already known that she was in trouble, and this guy didn't seem to notice. She tried to catch his eye, frantically mouthing "help me," but his attention was focused on Krick now, and he leaned forward and squinted as if he could see right through the disguise.

"Look at that," he said. "Low-level holomorphic projection shell with limited solidity. Haven't seen one of those in years! And-" He leaned sideways, looking around Ro. "Oh, arm-mounted plasma cannon. That's not very nice. Put that thing away before you put someone's eye out. Although…" He straightened up, peering inquisitively at Krick's face. "Might be a bit late for that, eh?"

"You're not _helping_!" Ro shouted as Krick, with an angry growl, pulled her further away from the man and the blue box. He moved his cybernetic arm, still concealed, from the small of her back to the side of her head. The people in the street and on the sidewalk paused, noticing for the first time that something was wrong.

The man, most definitely not Zee, made no move to stop him. Instead, he rolled his eyes and rocked back on his heels, looking as if Roden Krick was just a mild nuisance in his otherwise perfect day. "They don't listen, do they? They never _just listen_." Faster than Krick could react, he pulled an object about the length of a pencil from his pocket, aiming it directly at his holoviewer. There was a flash of blue light and a shrill buzzing sound, and suddenly Krick was crying out in anger, staggering away from Ro and clutching his face. His hologram fell, and the crowd scattered as he blindly fired the plasma cannon.

The man in the pinstriped suit grabbed Ro's arm. "Come on," he said. "Run!"


End file.
